True
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: Seven-year-old Depa Jarrus turns up in Kallus's office with a black eye and busted lip.
1. Part I

A/N: This is kind of a sequel to "The Lost Article," which I wrote earlier this fall. I'm building this tiny little 'AU-verse where: 1.) Everybody lives and is happy and 2.) Kallus really adores little Depa. I picture him as a doting uncle or mentor figure that Depa feels she can turn to. In this headcanon of mine, Kanan and Hera are, of course, wonderful parents, but I think it's important for all kids to have someone outside the family that they can trust, even when they come from wonderful, loving homes. *climbs down from soapbox* Reviews and constructive criticism are most welcome!

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True 

_10 ABY_

Kallus had his eyes on a deployment report, but his ears were attuned to his office door, open in expectation of Depa's arrival. (Weekly, she came to watch a holo-doc with him and ask a thousand questions about the galaxy and its workings.) He glanced at the chrono and shook his head; she should have been here by now, but he wasn't worried. She was infamous for wandering around the New Republic Naval Complex after school, stopping to chat with anyone who'd listen. She never met a stranger.

That's why Kallus thought it odd that her presence was announced at his door by only the sound of her footfalls rather than endless chatter. "You're late," he said in a mock-reprimand. He didn't look up from his computer terminal.

"I got hung up."

 _Hung up?_ What could a seven year old possibly have gotten "hung up" by? The smile tugging at Kallus's mouth was a wry one. "I see." He pretended to keep reading his report. She fidgeted uncomfortably in the doorway, half in and half out.

"I kinda—school was long today—is it alright—can I take a nap on your couch?"

Every part of that sentence had Kallus's immediate attention and concern. His head snapped up. "Are you feeling ill?" The words were barely out of his mouth as he really looked at her. His jaw fell slack. "Yes, I suppose you are."

She wouldn't meet his gaze. "It doesn't hurt that much," she mumbled.

"That," he said flatly, "can't possibly be true. Come here."

Shuffling slowly, Depa Billaba Jarrus made her way across the office and stood in front of Kallus. He leaned forward in his desk chair and she put a hand on his knee, drumming her fingers anxiously. Gingerly, he put a finger under her chin and tipped her head back.

Her face was bleeding.

She was looking at him through one eye nearly swollen shut. Below that, her cheek bone sported a sizeable bruise. Her lip was split on the opposite side, a large gash on the lower complemented by a smaller, though no less bloody, one on the upper. It was incredibly jarring to look at; her indigo-hued blood clashed violently with the green of her skin, and her swollen eye had bruised almost black.

Kallus's heart was beating wildly, outrage and panic warring to be his dominant emotion. Yet, his voice was deadly calm. "Who did this to you?"

She swallowed. "I got in a fight."

That wasn't an answer; it was an evasion tactic. Kallus was on guard and very, very suspicious. "You _got_ in a fight?"

She squirmed, saying nothing.

Kallus's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as realization dawned. "You _started_ a fight!"

"Well!" She exploded suddenly, cheeks flushing. "People can't just—" She stopped and swiped the tears that had fallen from her good eye.

Face softening, he took her hand and pressed it gently. "Can't just what?" She lifted her chin haughtily and clenched her jaw, looking every bit like her mother. She didn't say anything else, but the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders with shallow breaths indicated the depth of turmoil she was trying to hide. Kallus got on eye level with her. "Depa," he prompted. "People can't just what?"

She struggled for a response, face twitching. "Say stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Mean stuff."

" _What_ mean stuff?"

"About—" She flicked her eyes up to his and then back down again. "About my parents."

Kallus nodded gravely in understanding. His first instinct was to call Kanan and Hera and let them come and deal with this singularly upsetting situation, but a moment's reflection told him maybe it was best if Hera _didn't_ see the bloody mess on her daughter's face. Kallus stood, still holding Depa's hand. "Come," he said.

He led her over to the small couch in his office and she settled in, pulling her knees up to her chin. She looked very small and very fragile, no trace of temper left. Kallus pulled a small first-aid kit from his desk drawer and sat down beside her. She watched him with a look of resigned distaste, knowing that he was about to clean her up. "Are you gonna use stuff that stings?"

"I'll pick the least sting-y one," he promised.

She nodded.

The first aid kit had several packets of antiseptic-doused towelettes meant for treating wounds like Depa's. Kallus tore one open and unfolded it, wiping as gently as he could to clean the now-dried blood from her skin. She flinched and made a pained sound when he swabbed at her split lip and the cut at her eye, but she didn't fuss. "You're a very brave girl," Kallus said with a hint of pride. "I know it hurts."

"Not as much—" She clamped down on whatever she was about to say, going stubbornly silent. Kallus frowned, noticing tears threatening to spill again, but knew better than to push her. He smoothed some anti-bac ointment on the angry gashes she'd gotten in the mysterious fight she wouldn't talk about. With the blood cleaned from her face, she looked _somewhat_ less like a street urchin, but the rapid swelling and darkening of her bruises were quickly making up for that. Kallus cleaned his hands and put the first aid kit away, sitting next to Depa on the couch. She nestled into his side. "I know you have to call my parents," she said quietly.

"Yes, I do." He knew she was wishing they didn't have to know. "They may be cross to find out I didn't call them straight away as it is."

She looked up at him hopefully. "So another five minutes won't make a big difference, right?"

He couldn't resist her. "I suppose not."

"Okay." She was silent for a long while. When she spoke again, she sounded small and uncertain. "Xander?"

"Yes?"

"What's—what does 'whore' and 'half-breed' mean?"

Something cold closed around Kallus's heart and he swallowed hard. "I think you'd better let me have the whole story."

She shifted. "I got hurt because I pushed a bigger boy and knocked him down and I don't _think_ he meant to hit me—'cause his eyes got super big—he just wanted me off and he swung his fist like this and that's what happened to my lip."

Kallus could hardly process. "You—and your eye?" He managed finally.

"Well when he hit me, I fell on the other side and busted my eye on the curb."

"You said it was a bigger boy? From school?"

"Yes."

"How…how _much_ bigger?"

"He's in fifth year…he's ten, I guess."

"You—" Kallus had to stop, drawing a deep breath. He didn't know much about children and their growth patterns, but he _did_ know that a child as small as Depa had no business picking a fight with someone probably double her size—and vice versa. "What got into your head, fighting someone that big? Fighting _at all?_ I'm sure it's not something your parents taught you to do." There was a decided note of aggravation in his voice, despite his best intentions. Depa bristled.

"I'll have you know I blacked _both_ his eyes," she shot back.

"Well!" Kallus exclaimed. "As long as you blacked them _both!_ "

"You don't get it!"

"I 'get' that whoever-he-is could have knocked you clean out." He looked at Depa, at her quivering chin and balled fists, trying to remember that although she had a fierce temper, it seldom ever stirred. He sighed. "What did he say to you?"

"Promise not to tell mama and daddy?"

"You know I can't do that. If I did, they wouldn't trust me anymore."

She accepted that with an unhappy nod. She glanced up at him. "He said—well, he was picking on me and some others at recess, but that—no big deal."

"Go on."

"After school, he—he said—he said my parents are 'rebel scum' and that I'm the 'half-breed daughter of a Jedi criminal and a Twi'leki whore.'" There was a quaver in Depa's voice and she took several breaths to try and calm herself. "I don't even know what that stuff _means_ , I just—it made me feel—it was so _ugly_ —why would someone be so ugly like that?" She turned her face to Kallus, eyes beseeching, imploring.

 _Half-breed daughter of a Jedi criminal and a Twi'leki whore._

Kallus had heard nasty slurs before—had spoken a few, too, a lifetime ago—and he knew how such terrible things had a way of burrowing deep into the darkest corners of one's soul. He knew that Depa's cuts would heal, but they'd leave scars far beneath the surface of her skin; she'd never forget those words or the contempt with which they were spoken. Part of her innocence had been taken, and that should never have happened. "Oh, dear heart," he whispered. A few errant curls were sticking in the anti-bac ointment by her eye and he brushed them aside, tucking them back into her headband. "You know none of it is true, don't you?"

"Papa says people don't say things they don't mean—not really." She paused. "So it must have been true to _him._ "

Kallus gnawed on that sad bit of wisdom for a moment. He supposed she was right. "I don't know why someone would think those things or say them. All I can tell you is that he must feel very bad inside himself, to be mean that way. I know that doesn't make you feel any less angry or hurt."

She climbed up on his lap, winding her arms around his neck. " _Is_ it true, what he said?" She mumbled into his shoulder. "About me and—"

"Let me tell you what _I_ know to be true." He put a hand on her back, rubbing small, rhythmic circles. It was something his mother had done for him when he was small, and he remembered how comforting the simple motion could be. "You are the daughter of two of the bravest, kindest people I have ever met. I see bits of both of them in you—in your determination, your courage, your compassion for others, your humor, your _very_ sharp tongue. That's who you are. That's who _they_ are. No matter what people say. Do you understand?"

"I never said _I_ thought all that stuff was true," she intoned softly, "I just—"

"I know." He paused. "I need to take you home. Why didn't you go straight there in the first place, Depa?"

She sniffed, and he could tell she was wiping more tears away. "I was afraid they'd be mad about—about all of it."

"I understand. But we still have to go."

"Alright." She sighed. "Xander?"

"Yes?"

"Will you do the explaining?"

"As much as I can," he promised.

"Xander?"

"Yes?"

"Will you carry me home?"

"Yes." He stood with her in his arms and she locked her arms tightly around his neck, her legs around his waist. She was delicate, small for her age, and easy to carry. She turned her face on his shoulder, trying to hide the black eye, he knew. The anti-bac was going to leave a stain on his shirt, but he didn't care. Only when she fell asleep five minutes into their walk did the tension leave her little body. It was good she was sleeping; after the day she'd had, she didn't need the added burden of seeing her parents' faces when they heard about what happened. Kallus himself didn't want that. For a moment, he considered it penance for everything he'd said and done during his days in the Imperial Navy. He quickly banished the thought.

When he finally got to the Syndulla-Jarrus home, it was Hera who answered the door. Her expression went from pleased, to worried, to utterly crestfallen in half a second as she saw the bruises marring her baby's face. Her mouth worked silently and her eyes were wild when she looked up at him. Kallus cleared his throat. "Is Kanan home? We…need to talk."

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A/N: Quick shoutout to **Guest101** , whoever you are. I want you to know I so appreciate all the lovely reviews you leave, and I'm glad that reading one of my fics was a bright spot for you the other day. I know it's tough to not get the kind of grades you were expecting when you've worked so hard. Keep that chin up, babe!


	2. Part II

A/N: Oh my gosh, you guys! I'm so glad you liked the first part of this fic! I was totally blown away by the response! Sorry for those of you who opened this up for more Kallus. After I wrote the previous bit, I decided I needed to know how Kanan and Hera reacted to the situation, and a couple of you felt that way too. So here we have it.

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True

 _Part II_

Hera could barely think. She couldn't see anything except Depa's split lip and swollen eye. She couldn't hear anything except the sound of her daughter's small, small voice when she relayed what had happened, what had been said. She couldn't get her mind off how Depa had asked for her father to put her to bed tonight. Hera looked down at her hands, at her green skin. She felt the weight of her lekku on her back. Would Depa resent her now, resent her Twi'lek blood and heritage?

Kanan walked back into the room, talking to her, startling her out of her anxious haze. "What?"

"She wanted me to stay with her for longer than usual, but she's sound asleep now," Kanan repeated patiently. "I think we should let her stay home from school tomorrow."

Hera didn't disagree. She nodded, not looking at him. "That's fine."

She threw her attention to the dishes in the sink, scrubbing so vigorously that Kanan was beginning to wonder whether the plates might start to disintegrate. "Stop," he said finally, touching her wrist. "Talk to me."

She dried her hands on her pants, slinging water everywhere. She braced her palms on the edge of the counter and leaned heavily. "I—I'm grateful that Kallus had the presence of mind to clean her up before he brought her home because I don't know what I would have done if I—" She stopped short, voice breaking. "It's bad enough now, but he said her face was bloody before."

"I know."

" _Bloody_ , Kanan. Our tiny, tender-hearted child _had a bloody face_ because of what some big kid said about us." She shuddered.

 _Half-breed daughter of a Jedi criminal and a Twi'leki whore._

The words hadn't stopped ringing in Hera's mind. They'd been on a sickening loop for hours, leaving an acid taste in her mouth and a bitter heartache she'd never felt before. She said the words out loud and Kanan flinched. She looked up at him with pain in her eyes. "Were we selfish?"

He was taken aback, not understanding. "What?"

"Having her—were we selfish?"

"Hera, what are you saying?" He folded his arms over his chest, almost angry. "It's about eight years too late to have second thoughts about having a baby."

"I know that," she snapped. She thought about the things they'd said to each other, long ago, heatedly discussing all the reasons she did _not_ want to have a baby. But that had been another lifetime, before they'd held and cherished their girl. How could he think—? She glared at him, for all the good it did. "This isn't that," she said tersely.

"Then what is it?"

"I should have known that something like this— _I should have known_."

"You couldn't have," he said, bewildered. Hera wrung her hands and looked at him anxiously.

"Yes, I could." She felt heat creep into her cheeks, dormant anger stirring in the pit of her stomach. "Twi'lek women are…exposed to things that human women aren't. And we have a child who is half-Twi'lek. It should have occurred to me." She closed her eyes, thinking of all the vile things that had been said and looked and done to her back in the days when she didn't mind using her Twi'lek physique and feminine charms for the good of a mission. It was for a purpose, she'd told herself. She wondered at that now; how she could have been so blasé back then about using herself. The idea of Depa doing or experiencing anything like that made her feel _sick._

Kanan was watching her patiently, expectantly. "I—" She closed her mouth and opened it and closed it again, shaking her head, hardly knowing how to give words to what she was feeling. She started to pace. "We—we conceived her together, but I—" She stopped, breathing raggedly. She pressed one hand low on her abdomen. " _I_ carried her, Kanan."

Something in his face softened. "I know, Hera."

The tenderness with which he said her name made her want to run to him, but she walked farther away from him instead. "I know what it felt like for her to move and grow inside me. _I_ was the one to protect and provide for her. And then my body failed us both and I couldn't even do _that_ the way she needed me to—"

"Stop."

"But during all the bedrest, the early labor, the bleeding, I thought if I could just carry her another day, another _hour_ , then that would be enough. I could protect her at least that much longer. That would be enough." Hera, still pacing, swiped furiously at the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"It _was_ enough."

"She was so small, Kanan, when she was born. So fragile." She turned to him and he closed the space between them, laying his hands on her shoulders.

"She was strong. So were you."

Hera lay her head on his chest and he closed his arms around her. "When I held her for the first time, I thought, 'This is it. Carrying her long enough to survive is the hardest thing I'll ever have to do.' I never thought I'd have to protect her from _this._ I don't know if you—but it never occurred to me _and it should have_ —but it didn't, not even once—because she looks as _human_ as she does—she's _us_ —I just never thought of her as—as—"

"Mixed," he supplied quietly. "It's not a dirty word, Hera."

"What if _she_ thinks it is now? 'Half-breed.' That's what that boy called her. We weren't thinking about how it would affect our child when we chose to—"

" _Stop it."_ Kanan loosened his hold on Hera, taking a step back. He tipped her chin up. "Don't borrow trouble. We weren't trying to get pregnant, remember? And what if we _had_ stopped to think about something like this happening? What would we have done—terminated the pregnancy?"

Hera gasped softly. "Of course not."

"We're not responsible for the prejudices other people pass to their children, Hera. That hatred—that's not on us. We're only responsible for _one_ kid, and she doesn't have a hateful bone in her body."

" _Now_ she does," Hera countered with a shiver. "She blacked both that kid's eyes after what he said."

"That's not hateful. She threw a punch at someone with a smart mouth," he said wryly. "It was wrong, but she comes by _that_ tendency very honestly."

"I hope you're referring to yourself."

"You, me—doesn't matter." He grinned at her for a split second. "Depa will be fine. I'm not saying that something like this won't ever happen again, but I do believe this incident is going to be the exception, not the norm. She has a gift for making people see _her_ —not what she looks like or who her parents are."

"I hope you're right." She wrapped her arms around her middle, holding that sacred space where she'd once had her baby girl all to herself. "I just wish I could protect her, keep her from it all. It wasn't the first or last time that someone's called me a 'Twi'leki whore,' but I never, _never_ wanted—"

"I know." He paused a beat. "You're her hero, Hera. She's always wanted to be just like you. You know that, right?"

"I don't want her to resent being—"

"You wanna know the real reason she asked me to put her to bed tonight?" He shook his head and gave a sad, rueful smile. "Technically, it was your turn for bedtime, but she knows I can't see her face. She knew how upset you were, seeing her lip and eye like that. So she asked for me instead."

"She…she told you that?"

"In so many words."

"Oh, Kanan." She stroked the scarred skin over his eyes and he bent down to let her. He so seldom said anything about his blindness anymore; she forgot that there were small moments when it still bothered him. "Don't think for a second she doesn't completely adore you."

"I know," he mumbled, sounding just a shade unsure. "I'm just saying—she doesn't resent you, she doesn't resent being half-Twi'lek. She just doesn't want you to be upset. _She's_ looking out for _you._ That's our kid."

Hera sighed, tension draining for her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around Kanan's waist, pulling him close to her. "I guess we did good," she said.

He nodded, resting his chin atop her head. "We did good."

They went silent, just standing in the middle of their kitchen, holding each other. They weren't a Jedi and general, they weren't Depa's parents. For a long while, they were just Kanan and Hera, anchored together as they always had been. Time hadn't done anything to dampen their quiet need for each other.

After a long time, Hera said, "I think I'll sleep with Depa tonight, in case she wakes up in the middle of the night hurting."

Kanan nodded in understanding, even though they both knew their daughter wasn't the wake-in-the-night type. "Okay."

When she was ready for sleep, Hera climbed into her daughter's twin-sized bed—if she slept on her side, she'd _just_ manage to fit—and pillowed her head on her arm. Depa's eyes fluttered open.

"Mama?" The word was barely there.

"Shh, love."

Depa made a contented sound, eyes drifting closed again. She slept just the way Kanan did—one arm flung over her middle, the other crooked above her head. She looked peaceful, untroubled by anything in life. But Hera noticed the swelling around her eye and mouth were worse than before, and would no doubt be painful come morning. Hardly realizing what she was doing, she started to hum a lullaby, an ancient one that mothers on Ryloth sang to keep bad dreams away. Her subconscious wanted to protect her daughter in sleep, if she couldn't protect her in the daytime. It was her tie to Ryloth that had put a target on her daughter's back; it seemed fitting that her tie to Ryloth should also offer a soothing balm. Hera's soft alto woke Depa again and this time, the little one wriggled closer to her mother, curling into the cocoon of her arms. The closeness comforted them both and they sank into the soft peace of sleep, protective of each other.

At dawn, Depa hadn't stirred, but cold and stiffness drove Hera back to her own bed. She eased her body between the covers carefully, trying not to wake Kanan. When she finally settled in next to him, the soft brush of his knuckles on her arm told her he was awake anyway.

"She okay?" His voice was thick and gravelly.

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

In the darkness, Hera nodded. "I will be." She paused, turning her body to his. He reached for her—maybe just to hold her, maybe for more—but she put a hand on his chest. "Kanan?" She said his name tentatively.

He drew up on one elbow, concern creasing his forehead. "What is it?"

"It isn't everything we hoped it would be, is it? The galaxy post-Empire, I mean. I didn't think there would still be people calling us criminals and 'rebel scum.' Not after this many years."

"Maybe not," he admitted. "Are you…worried?"

"Not worried, exactly. Not yet."

He reached for her again and this time, she let him pull her close. His hand wandered over the curve of her neck and shoulder, the nape of her neck and then her lekku, touching her in all the ways he knew would comfort her. "It'll be alright," he murmured.

There was a murky thought in Hera's head that maybe it wouldn't be alright—in the long run—but she sighed and let it go. She gave herself to Kanan and then to sleep. It was true what he'd said earlier; she was only borrowing trouble, and trouble could keep at least one more night.

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A/N: Tell me truly: what did you think? My knee-jerk reaction was to write Hera as very angry, but that didn't feel right, so I started over only a couple hundred words in on that. This ventured off into territory that I was unprepared for, and it feels kind of messy. Thoughts? Constructive criticism would be most welcome!


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